My Sin My Soul
by TheDevilsWhore
Summary: After Clara's death the Doctor meets her sixteen year old echo Clara Oswin. This story follows their lives and relationship as it unfolds. (Set in a universe where Clara and the Doctor had a more intimate relationship) (smut and god knows what else). (Will try to update as regularly as possible but I'm often pretty busy). (Critiques welcome and encouraged).
1. Chapter 1

The Doctor's hands moved anxiously across the chalkboard, scratching equations like dusty little mice over its dark surface. His eyebrows were drawn together in feigned concentration while his ears sifted frantically through the cacophony of sounds echoing just beyond his door. The raucous laugh of adolescent boys, the sloppy smack of a couple snogging in a supply closet and the slam of a door and barked reprimand as they were caught. The underlying bee buzz gabble of hundreds of students coming back from the Christmas holiday. He wasn't quite sure what exactly he was looking for but he was certain it was none of these things. Then he heard it, the step of familiar feet, not an exact match for the pattern stored in his memory but close enough to be recognized.

His fingers stilled with the chalk, and it suddenly felt as if his hearts were teaming up to break through his ribcage. The steps were, for a moment lost among the clatter of students, not to be recaptured until they were directly in front of his room. The Doctor felt his back tense as the door was pushed open letting in a draft of intense sound only to be quickly extinguished again as the door slid back into place.

There was a moment's silence then a voice, achingly familiar, said:

"You're not Ms. Ricker."

It freed the Doctor from his self-inflicted paralysis and he turned. She stood not three meters from him her arms clasped about a workbook, her eyebrows noble and dark, pulled together questioningly above her huge lolition eyes, sweet bow lips glistening in a frown. He had not been expecting her to be so similar to Clara, a near photograph echo of his dead love.

He swallowed deeply, perhaps the TARDIS had been right, perhaps this was a bad idea. He had thought he could keep himself detached, had told himself that this was nothing more than a mere checkup -making sure that Clara's echoes, with whom his life was so tightly entangled, were safe- the least he could do for the women who'd saved not only his life but his very existence. However, as he stood staring he knew just how wrong he had been.

"No?" He said finally in reply, "What gave it away miss…?"

"Oswin. Clara Oswin," Said the girl with a look of amused disapproval, a perfect replication of the one his Clara used to give him all those many years ago, his throat contracted sorrowfully.

"Do you know where she is? She was supposed to help me with a maths problem." Clara's echo said.

"Retired."

"Retired? She was only thirty."

"Hmm, well I wouldn't worry about it. Humans are notoriously flaky, always changing their minds, always getting bored, always dying."

The girls eyes went wide and she seemed suddenly unsure of the man before hers sanity.

The Doctor remembered himself then, and switching to his most professional voice asked, "Would you like _me_ to help you with it?"

"I suppose." She answered and shifting her book bags position on her shoulder made her way to the front of the room and the Doctor's desk.

The Doctor, placing himself carefully across from her in his chair waited for her to relinquish the book on the desk before picking it up. In his hands it was warm from where the girl had been clutching it to her chest, he felt a shudder of melancholy and was forced to drop it back quickly to the table. His eyes scanned the open page reading quickly the information then going back to take his time studying the nuances of this young Clara's script. In accordance with _his_ Clara's hand it was small and neat, however, this Clara's writing had a slight childish flourish to it that had not been previously present. Another sharp beat chastened his hearts.

"How old are you?" he asked finally.

"Sixteen sir," she answered automatically.

He eyed her for a moment, rounded cheeks, large eyes, ruddy lips. He would have guessed fourteen as soon as sixteen but he could think of no reason for her to lie. Nonetheless:

"You're a bit young for the Navier-Stokes Equations," It was more than a bit of an understatement.

"I'm clever," Was her shameless answer.

"I remember," he muttered sadly down to the paper.

"Sorry, what?"

"Humans!" he covered up a bit too passionately, "Never bloody listen. I said the vector laplacian term, it's all wrong!"

Young Clara's chin puckered stubbornly "What are you talking about? It's fine." She shot back.

"No it really isn't. The laplacian term is supposed to be the difference between the velocity at a point and the mean velocity in a small surrounding volume. This- this is just… glop."

The girl's eyes lit with an argumentative spark at his words. She dropped her bag on the lino floor and marched around his desk, then placing her hand directly next to his leaned across him to glare at her work. It was a perfectly young naive movement from his new pupil, however, the Doctor couldn't help but to draw parallels back to certain less puerile action of his own Clara and he was struck with the sudden craving to pull the girl down onto his now throbbing lap. Disgusted by this perversity he tugged his hand hastily from the desk and shoved the workbook away from himself so that the young Clara was forced to move from him in order to continue her reading.

After a moment, though, the Doctor found his eyes wandering back towards her to watch as she re-assessed her work. As her hand brushed over the sprawling numbers, rapturous concentration caused the tip of her tongue to curl at the corner of her mouth, and her scapulae, prominent through her school jumper wiggled slightly with the movement of her arm, and her left hip listed easily towards him and the small undulation of her breasts beneath her slightly see-through shirt as she breath and-

What the hell was he doing?! Lusting after a young girl, eyefucking the nearly child of an old love, being weak and whimsical and dumb. He stood abruptly shoving his chair back with a sharp squeak then turning to fain a look of disinterest out the rain speckled window. From the corner of his tortured eye the Doctor saw Clara correct the lean in her stance but she was otherwise unmoved by his sudden departure.

He sighed feeling miserable, this had clearly been a mistake. What had made him think he could keep himself away from this girl when he'd already proven himself incapable of just that with his own Clara? He'd spent months being cold and rude and generally just awful in an attempt to keep her at bay only to have himself give in to his own desperate desire in one moment of weakness. He wasn't going to give himself the chance to make that mistake again. This Clara, clearly brilliant and bold and innocent had no need for him and his mad world. _But what about me_? asked a small voice in his head, _Maybe_ I _need_ her.

That made up his mind, he wouldn't stay, he couldn't. He would wait out the day then make his exit. Run away in his blue box as he had done so many times before, but this time he knew he would be making the correct decision. He rested his forehead heavily against the window pane and let out another quiet sigh feeling his gut twist like a gnarled old root.

"Bloody… How did I not see that?"

The Doctor turned around swiftly to see young Clara drawing jagged lines across the paper of her work book.

"Clara wait, don't." Exclaimed the Doctor hastening over and lashing out a hand to grip over the one angrily destroying its own work.

She looked up at him startled. The hand he had placed over hers burned in that delightful way that made his extremities pulse and his brain buzz, he knew he should remove it, chop it off at the wrist if he had to, but he imagined the gaping loneliness waiting for him just out of sight and allowed himself this momentary bliss.

"Clara," he said straining to keep his voice neutral, "Don't erase your mistakes, just start on a new sheet, you won't learn anything if you pretend they don't exist."

At that moment the door banged open and a loud voice sounded through the room, "-complete fucking twat ye ask me, said he'd call me mum if… Ooh th' 'ell 're you?"

The Doctor's hand leapt from Clara's as if he'd been shocked. He looked up to see who had spoken and found a girl and boy both around Clara's age staring at him with accusatory eyes. He slipped as nonchalantly away from the echo as he could manage and with a dry half smile answered:

"Doctor John Smith, I'm your new teacher."


	2. Chapter 2

Despite what the Doctor had said he still had every intention of fleeing the school as soon as his last class let out. The pain of being so close to Clara's echo while she sat naively by, unfeeling and uncaring, was almost enough to send him storming from the room in self-immolating agony. He was aware of her every minute movement, the juxtaposition of familiarity and alienness setting his teeth on edge. Even while he taught, gesticulating stiffly before the class, his attention was never more than the blink of an eye from Clara.

So focused was he on the grace with which her fingers tapped rhythmically across her desk in a musical little four beat and on how she squirmed every so often, pressing herself into the seat of her chair and shifting almost imperceptibly on her sit bones, that he almost missed the message which they were sending. The tapping, the shifting, constant roaming of her eyes to the clock, the longer the class dragged on the more agitated she appeared to become. He wouldn't have blamed her for being bored, the curriculum he'd been given was uninspired at best, and if Clara's work on the Navier-Stokes Equation was any indication, well beneath her intelligence level. He wished he could whisk her away, show her the stars, even the most ordinary of concepts would seem interesting when portrayed in the form of an ancient black whole or the birth of a star. However, the more he looked at her the more he became aware that it was not mere boredom which had her twisting in her seat.

Was something wrong? The Doctor couldn't help but to ask himself. Perhaps he had been too hasty in his assumptions, _perhaps_ she wasn't as alright as she'd seemed earlier. What if she needed him and he left? _Don't be an idiot!_ He scolded himself, _She's safer without you, they all are._ And there was no arguing with that, no matter how he spun it Clara Oswald and all her various echoes had been safer before he'd turned up.

Having given to students some equations to work on by themselves the Doctor had collapsed into his chair. He rubbed his hand against his mouth in agitation, he wished _his_ Clara was there now, she'd always been so damn good at solving his problems. He could almost feel her standing behind him as he closed his swollen eyes, her arms stretching languorously over his shoulders to cross before his chest, he could _almost_ feel her breath in his ear whispering some helpful piece of information to which he'd been blind. He strained to make out what it was but the illusion didn't carry that far and the ghost vanished from his mind.

The school bell rang then, sending students shoving from their seats and scrambling towards the door. Clara despite her seeming anxiousness to leave didn't leap immediately from her chair but instead paused for a moment knuckles white from their grip on the desk. It lasted only a heartbeat though, then like the rest she grabbed up her bag and swung for the door. However, it was enough to send the Doctor's head reeling with a kind of overbearing worry.

"Miss Oswin." he called out impetuously, knowing that he would live to regret it.

The girl turned back to him with Clara's familiar deer in the headlights look on her face.

"Sir?" She inquired waveringly.

"Stay behind a moment."

For a second she stood immobile, looking as if she were calculating her escape, but finally her body slackened (if only a fraction) and she turned and stood awkwardly before her desk.

As the Doctor waited for the last of the students to slip out the door he assessed her carefully, noting the way her body seemed to grow in tenseness as the seconds ticked by. He allowed more time than necessary to pass before speaking, hoping that his silence might draw from her the answers to the questions that he had yet to figure out how to ask. She made no attempts to speak however, just stood watching him and pulling at her school tie.

"Is everything alright?" He finally asked steepling his fingers before his chin in an attempt to look more professorial.

"Yeah." She responded suddenly defensive.

"Don't lie to me Clara," Was his stern reply.

"I'm not." She spat back her chin jutting stubbornly.

He let the silence draw out again as a slight feeling of shock prickled a the back of his neck, all that youthful carelessness, which had been in such abundance earlier had suddenly evaporated like a drop of water on a hot skillet

"Fine," he relented after a moment and he could see her noticeably relax, "Go."

She did, marching hastily to the door.

12

The encounter left the Doctor taught and irritable, and by the time second period let out he had talked himself into both staying indefinitely and fleeing at the next bell at least a dozen times.

However when second bell did ring it was not to his TARDIS which he went but rather to go find Clara for some proper answers. He tracked her as far as the street where his plan was promptly foiled by an old grey banger waiting for her at the curb.

He stopped in the schools entranceway, hiding among the students as he watched her approach the car. The window was rolled down and she leaned over to speak to the driver, a man with a brutal but not unattractive face and shaggy black hair. She appeared to argue quietly with him for a minute, her voice too hushed for the Doctor to make anything out. Then abruptly she straightened her face stained red and her eyes glistening ever so slightly. The Doctor heard a low chuckle from the car before the engine was revved and it sped off away from the school.

The Doctor's first instinct was to rush to her side to see if she was alright, but many years of keeping people at a distance had taught him restraint enough to stay put, a well-practiced look of apathy present on his gaunt features. He watched through his peripheral as she stood looking after the car.

"Clara," a voice behind the Doctor made them both turn to see a couple of school kids come trotting down the stairs past the Doctor.

Immediately a false smile leapt to Clara's mouth as she greeted the two students, the male of the two –lanky, with a pinched, acne ridden face and platinum hair- slung his arm around her neck and placed a kiss at the top her head.

"Leaving without us luv?" the Doctor heard him ask as Clara elbowed him off comedically and the other girl rolled her eyes.

He watched unobtrusively until the trio had moved out of sight, then headed straight to his TARDIS to do some proper snooping through the schools data bases. By the time he'd reached it all thoughts of leaving had been dropped from his mind.

12

The Doctor had not been prepared for the agony that the next few days would bring. Watching Clara as she went about her life, a life which he had nothing to do with, while he sat walled behind his desk, he could think of no crueler punishment. It were as if the universe were mocking him, taunting him with this constant reminder of what he'd lost. Even when Clara was nowhere to be seen he felt as if he could sense her lingering just beyond his reach. And it drove him mad.

The constant awareness manifested itself into a physical ailment, crippling him from the inside. He ached, everything ached to be nearer to her, to hold her in his arms again, to comfort her, to touch her, talk to her. Anything.

But despite his unwavering enthrallment nothing he witnessed could satisfyingly explain Clara's strange fluctuations of attitude. The car -his only lead- and its infuriating driver never returned and the Doctor never got another moment alone with Clara. He half suspected that she was actively avoiding him but had no evidence to prove it.

A few times in those beginning days he had become dangerously close to leaving. After catching a glimpse of her giggling with a school mate or flirting clumsily with one of the college boys, he would storm back to the TARDIS then in a jealous rage, blaming her attitude on hormones or stupidity or the lack of development of the prefrontal cortex, and blaming himself for being a stupid, love-struck, and perverted old man. But his rages never lasted, for the next time he would see her she would have reverted back to her state of undeniable agitation.

It went on this way until finally, by no fault of his own, he found himself alone with her.

He had been taking his lunch in the TARDIS, working out some of his frustration by manipulating the translation matrix. His eyes had been fixed on the screen of one of the consoles retractable monitors when suddenly the HADS gave a shriek of alarm.

"Bloody…" the Doctor exclaimed running, one hand covering an ear, to shut off the emergency system -still a bit touchy from earlier repairs- before it launched him halfway across the solar system. Subduing the earsplitting sirens the Doctor pulled back the screen to see what had spooked his ship.

And there she was.

The supply cabinet he had landed in, and which Clara had subsequently wandered into, was abnormally large for what it was and in turn, the light, which stood naked at the door didn't do much to fend off the darkness, leaving Clara a mere apparition on the screen. Yet there was no mistaking her, with her moonish eyes catching what little light there was and her slender girlish legs whispering through the darkness as she paced, and her arms, which he could imagine so vividly wrapping around his trembling torso, crossed across her lower ribs. There was no ignoring the sudden quickening of his hearts as they worked to divert the flow of his blood.

The Doctor stood in petrified silence as he watched her, fighting the urge to take advantage of her solitude. He wouldn't need much, just the sound of her voice as she talked to him, or the feel of her hand holding his in greeting small and warm and alive would be enough to mollify, if only for a moment, the great sucking pit which Clara had created at his centre.

As he watched, her pacing slowed but her agitation seemed to draw to an apex. Abruptly her strides ceased and she slouched to a sit against one of the walls. She drew her knees up to her chest and her hand dropped beneath her skirt fumbling in its folds. For a moment the Doctor's breath caught in his throat, she wasn't…? But no, her hand pulled away clutching tightly to what was clearly a cigarette. The Doctor's hearts sank.

"You stupid child," he whispered beneath his breath as he watched her pull a lighter from the same pocket and catch the tip of the cigarette with a flame that tilted and hopped as it was struck by an exhale from her nostrils.

She took a drag then rested her head against her raised knees, her hands gripping behind her head with the smoldering fag threatening to drop ash into her hair. The Doctor knew how unreasonable his anger was, he had absolutely no right to make any judgments about this girl, whom, was for all intents and purposes was a complete stranger. However, he couldn't seem to shake off the feelings of concern, anger, and disappointment, all so intense it almost felt as if he had raised the child himself.

Clara sat for only a few moments before getting back to her feet. Looking slightly calmer, she stumped out the cigarette on the floor and returned what was left of it to her book bag, her hand shuffled around its contents for moment before withdrawing, something new and small within her delicate clutch. He squinted and as he did Clara rolled the item from the palm of her hand up to sit between her thumb and forefinger. Pushed into the light it became a little pill. Offhand the Doctor couldn't determine exactly what it was but knew from experience that good things rarely came from little pills taken in secret.

Clara balanced it on the pad of her thumb then carefully pressed it back between her dark pink lips.

The Doctor was out of the TARDIS before the pill touched her tongue. He closed the distance with one long legged step and grabbed for the hand still pressed to her lips. Clara flinched hard in his grip, a high pitched yelp of shock escaping her throat. She scrambled backwards to the wall, her wrist trapped in the Doctor's unyielding grip. He could see the whites of her eyes around the full circumference of her oaken irises and her lips were slightly parted over her clenched opaline teeth.

" _Spit that out_ ," the Doctor hissed and even he could hear how crazed his voice sounded.

Clara, her initial shock subsiding, gave him a seething look.

" _Spit!"_

Not removing her glaring eyes from his face she bowed her head ever so slightly and spat the pill wetly into his waiting palm.

Releasing Clara's braced arm the Doctor picked the already dissolving pill from the little puddle in his palm and rubbed it to a damp paste. Clara leaned back against the wall crossing her arms and glaring at him, all five feet and furious. He returned her stare with equal ferocity, whipping from his pocket his sonic and using it to take a reading of the chalky substance between his fingers.

Clara was first to break their stare, her eyes jumping suddenly from his to the sonic, the angry look weighing her features melting away into something more akin to curiosity, awe maybe even. She straightened with a new awareness, her fingers coming up hesitantly as if to touch the thrumming device but in the end she appeared to think better of it and let her hand fall back to her side.

The sonic gave a cheerful little _blip_ as it finished its reading and the Doctor looked away from Clara to it.

"It's a mint," he said sounding somewhat incredulous.

"Yeah," was Clara's quiet unfocused reply, her eyes still searching the sonic, "Coulda told you that."

Then snapping abruptly from her nearly trance like state she asked, "Do I know you?"

The question sent tendrils of excitement thrilling through the Doctor veins. Her eyes were narrowed, searching his face intently.

He didn't answer, just stood. His parted lips allowing only the tiniest of breaths to pass through them as if he feared anymore might scare the girl off. All he could do in that moment was hope beyond hope, beyond rationality and logic, that she would remember him. That she would blink and his Clara would be there, looking back from this girl's eyes, a grin dimpling her face as she recalled all their years spent together and she would leap passionately into his weary arms, burry her face against his shoulder and hold him until he forgot all the hellish years he'd spent without her.

The girl blinked then, shaking her head slightly, "Sorry," she whispered looking away from him, "I guess not."

The Doctor hadn't realized it but his breath had stopped completely in those torturous seconds and now he gasped it in agonizingly. He closed his eyes against the welling of unwelcome tears and in a voice unnecessarily gruff ordered, "Go to class Miss Oswin."

The girl ducked to pick up her schoolbag looking more shaken than ever, then dashed past the Doctor and through the door back into the hall.

He watched until the door swung closed behind her, then stood clutching at his quivering chest as tears spilled silently down his face.


	3. Chapter 3

Authors Note: Sorry it's taking me so long to post this story. I'm just swamped with school and work. But no worries I have no plans of abandoning this story.

The next morning when the Doctor walked into his classroom she was there.

Having spent the last twenty or so hours lamenting his absolute failure in the broom closet the previous day he was more than a little shocked to find Clara waiting for him. She was sitting against his desk nibbling the tip of her left thumb nervously, eyes downcast, heel wobbling back and forth over the smooth floor.

Upon his entrance her foot ceased its movement and her eyes leapt up to his, burning into him beneath furrowed brows. He stopped dead, one hand still on the door handle.

"Clara," his voice was barely more than a whisper of breath, a sound of reverence.

She rebalanced her weight onto flat feet and moving her eyes shyly from his asked, her words hushed and nervous, "Can we talk?"

The Doctor's excitement was so potent for a moment he forgot how to function.

"Of course," he finally managed letting the door close behind him.

Silence followed.

The Doctor, whom had become so accustomed to _his_ Clara's presence, whom had known so well what she needed when she needed it, now felt at a loss. Luckily he was saved as Clara, nerves seeming to get the upper hand, blurted out:

"Please don't phone my mum!"

"What?" the Doctor was thrown for a loop.

"About yesterday," Clara took a few abrupt steps forward, "please don't tell her about yesterday."

The classroom wasn't large and the space between them was diminished quickly. She was so close, mere feet away. Didn't she know, couldn't she feel his passion for her burning from his hearts down to his loins? Couldn't she feel how frail his control was? How wretched he became when she was near? She had him backed to the door, the look on her exquisite features all determination and anger and- and panic; oh thank the gods for that sobering detail. It forced some strength, some morality, which he'd felt torn out of him with his Clara's death, back into his addled mind.

"Clara," he spoke slowly, deliberately. He wasn't going to lose himself like he had yesterday, "I won't, alright? I wasn't going to."

All but her eyes went still, they roamed his face suspiciously, looking for any sign of a lie.

"I promise." He caught those scrutinizing eyes, trying to portray utter sincerity with his own.

The standoff lasted a minute longer, then, with just the slightest yielding of her taught shoulders she seemed to relax a bit, "Good." She finally allowed and by the tone of her voice he could tell she'd been expecting more of a fight.

She looked slightly ashamed now, staring down at her scuffed black Mary Janes. For a moment it appeared as if she might say something else, her eyes moving up to his chest and her lips parting minutely before closing again as she appeared to reconsider.

"Is… Is there something else you wanted to talk about?" The Doctor finally asked his blood racing hopefully.

"No," she mumbled her face taking on a pinkish hue, "It's just- You're blocking the door."

"Oh," the Doctor mumbled, and it was his turn to blush as he pressed his back awkwardly against the door frame to let her pass.

As she did she glanced ever so quickly up at his twisted old face and for the most fleeting of moments he saw a softness in her amber eyes, gratitude maybe, then she was by, nothing left but the radiant brush of heat against his limbs.

When the morning bell rang Clara didn't turn up for the class, but, were he being honest he hadn't expected her to. It didn't however, lessen the loss he felt at her absence.

12

That evening, as he traipsed back through the halls to the TARDIS the weight which had been subduing him since his first day at the school seemed to have lifted slightly. Clara had finally allowed him that glimpse into her life that he'd been seeking. He was now no longer grasping in the dark, for a clear line of inquiry had been set for him. No aliens, no monsters, just simple human problems with simple human solutions. Children Clara's age were always getting into spats with their parents, as they grew and began to think for themselves, it was only natural for such fissures to appear. _But…_ He remembered the man in the car, the cigarette in the closet, the look of dread in her eyes. Perhaps he'd drop by her house tomorrow that was something that teachers did… no, not really. Maybe he could find his invisibility watch, or was that too creepy?

He was still trying to figure out his line of attack when, from behind him came a voice:

"Doctor Smith." It called and was followed by the hurrying of sharp heels.

The Doctor turned to see a well-dressed woman approaching him at a quick tapping pace. She looked to be in her middle thirties, she had a shiny forehead, plucked eyebrows and quite simple but not unattractive features of a type that might be defined as being weakly aristocratic. When the Doctor looked at her she smiled coquettishly, flashing a set of overly white teeth at him.

"Can I help you?" the Doctor asked trying not to appear irritated by her interruption.

Either she was an impressive new level of clueless or the Doctor was more convincing than he thought, because she dropped him another flirty smile before answering, "I've noticed you don't talk to anyone much."

"Yes, well I guess I'm just not terribly talkative." The Doctor responded walking that fine line Clara had showed him between unapproachable and arsehole.

"Psht" she waved her hand dismissively, "You're just shy, everybody's is at first."

"Perhaps," the Doctor allowed, then, hoping to shake the woman began walking again. He made it only a few steps before realizing he had no idea where he was going, it wasn't as if he could head back to the TARDIS tailing…

"What did you say your name was?

"Makenzie Bansik," She grinned at him with those blindingly white teeth and he groaned internally, feeling that he'd walked into some sort of trap.

Unsure where else to go the Doctor began making his way down towards the exit. Ms. Bansik clopping along hurriedly at his side. The Doctor was vaguely aware of her constant prattling as he found the descended the stairs. She was oblivious to his disinterest, taking his occasional "m'hms" and slight nods as signs of undivided attention, that or she just figured that if she kept talking long enough she might finally break him.

"Sorry, what?" he asked when he suddenly realized that she was waiting for a response to a question he hadn't heard.

"I _said_ would you like to go for a drink?"

"Oh… uhh… not really, I- I'm not much of a drinker and I uh… I have a lot of…" (What was it that Clara had always been griping about?) "Grading. _Tons_ of grading."

"You haven't even been here a whole week, how much grading could you really have?"

 _Damn._ They were outside now and despite it still being reasonably light the air was already biting. Shoving his hands deep into his coat pockets the Doctor continued his aimless march. He was even less sure where he was headed at this point but refused to stop for fear that she might take it as sign of consent and he'd be forced to spend the evening gossiping inanely over drinks.

"I really don't-" he stopped midsentence, "Did you hear that."

"What?"

It seemed to be coming from just around the corner where the school building lent its wall to a grubby little alley. Holding up his hand to indicate for Ms. Bansik to stay back the Doctor crept forward and peeked down the alley. What he saw made his guts turn to ice.

Clara was pressed shoulder to hip against the school wall, dwarfed beneath the incredible bulk of her attacker. The man's big hands gripped her upper arms, his thumbs lodged beneath her armpits and fingers splayed like ugly wings across her squirming shoulder blades.

"HEY!" the Doctor bellowed rage numbing his body.

Surprised the man looked towards the Doctor who immediately recognized him as the fellow from the car. He had just enough time to growl something in Clara's ear before the Doctor came charging at him. He released his victim and took off down the alley ducking around the corner.

The Doctor came to a stop in front of Clara. She was staring off towards where the man had disappeared, her bare fingers pressing back into the wall.

"Clara Clara Clara," the Doctor begged breathlessly. He stooped before her his hand coming up to caress the naked bit of skin between her collar and jaw. She shied from his touch, her head snapping around. Her left cheek was bruised over the bone and her dark eyes had a wildness about them. The Doctor removed his hand but refused to retreat further.

"Clara?" he repeated.

Her eyes lifted to his, they remained there for only a second but it was enough to see something cold and unpleasant pass beneath their translucent surface before they were moving beyond his face and behind him. The Doctor turned in the direction of her gaze. He'd been so focused on Clara that he had completely forgotten the women who now stood gawping behind him. She wobbled past him and pulled Clara into an unwelcome hug. The Doctor watched helplessly as the woman stroked a shocked and uncomfortable looking Clara's hair, murmuring, "You're okay. You're okay," at her ear.

The Doctor wasn't sure if it was the woman's complete lack of respect for the girl's comfort or his own jealousy at not being the one holding her, but he found the scene to be extremely irritating and a rather ridiculous. Furthermore he couldn't help but to feel as that the show of compassion was less an act of kindness and more a ploy by the woman (whose name he'd already forgotten) to reassert herself into a role of centrality.

Being none to gentle the Doctor grabbed her by the arm and pulled her off Clara, saying sternly, "Give her some space."

"Of course, of course." The woman said shaking her head vigorously, "I was just so- Oh, and that man, how horrible! I should call the police." She reached into her purse and pulled out her phone.

Without thinking the Doctor snatched it from her hands. She spun around, gaping at him incredulously.

"What good will it do? The man's gone now, even if they did find him they wouldn't do anything." _Except get in my way,_ the Doctor reasoned.

The woman seemed unconvinced, "Well maybe she knows him."

"I don't," Clara lied quickly and the Doctor took note.

"Do you really want to put a frightened young girl through that mess?"

She looked dramatically back to Clara whose sudden look of outrage wasn't helping to make his point. "Alright," she finally conceded and the Doctor couldn't help but imagine that she was mourning her chance to play the martyr for a gaggle of strapping ex-squaddies, "At least let's take her to the nurse."

"Like hell you will," Clara interjected snottily.

The Doctor eyed her blackened cheek, something to stop the swelling certainly wouldn't have gone amiss, but, he was sure that by this hour the nurse would be long gone. "I think I have a med-kit in my room that should suffice." He offered.

Clara glared at him and he raised an eyebrow challenging her to argue. She let out a frustrated if slightly shaky huff but diverted her energy to picking up her bag which had been left forgotten on the pavement.

"Alright, I _guess_ that will do," the woman consented after a moment.

12

At first, as they had walked back to the Doctor's classroom, the woman had tried asking Clara questions in a soft concerned monotone that, for some reason set the Doctor's teeth on edge. However; after a few of Clara's sullen non-answers and the Doctor's pointed lack of acknowledgment she eventually got bored and sank into silence.

Entering his classroom the Doctor flipped a switch and the lights stuttered on with a jaded buzz. The woman shadowed him closely as he retrieved the scruffy old med kit from his desk. It looked as if it had been there since World War II, containing nothing but frayed yellow gauze, misshapen medical tape, iodine and a pair of scissors.

"Well that's not going to be much help," the woman huffed.

"Really?" the Doctor replied dryly, "I hadn't noticed."

"We need to get an icepack at least."

"Hmm, good idea. You do that."

She blinked at him bewildered by his dismissiveness. The Doctor sighed then, feeling slightly guilty. For all her self-centered neediness she was just trying to help. "Sorry," he apologized stiffly, "I didn't mean to be rude, but the sooner we can get ice on Clar- Ms. Oswin's cheek the better. I think there are icepacks in the teacher's room, would you mind getting one."

She nodded still looking put off, but clicked briskly from the room.

"Oswin," he beckoned the girl over to his desk.

She'd been standing, trying to look nonchalant, in the middle of the room having followed the adults that far before losing confidence. But when the Doctor called she approached obediently. She still looked weary, her movements slow and deliberate. He patted his hand on the desk indicating for her to sit. She gave him a suspicious look out of the corner of her eye but, when he didn't change his mind, hoisted herself up onto surface and wriggled backwards on her seat bones until the edge of the desk touched the backs of her knees. The Doctor's eyes lingered there a moment, taking in the way her tendons drew clean, delicate lines down to her high white socks.

His breath hitched painfully in his throat as he caught a glimpse of that incomparably poignant sight. She looked so terribly small and oddly innocent glaring up at him from the table. He wanted to steel her away, to take her somewhere safe. He wanted to wrap her up in soft blankets, stroke back her messy hair and hold her until she drifted off safely to sleep in his arms.

The Doctor cleared his throat, "Would you mind if I take a look at your cheek?" His voice came out low and hoarse, "I want to make sure it isn't broken."

"It isn't," she said replied defiantly.

"Humour me."

She sighed but assented, lifting her chin for him slightly.

The Doctor knelt down before her, barely breathing, trying to ignore the keening of his hearts. He raised one miserable hand, reaching up until the tips of his fingers tenderly grazed her cheek. Her lips parted with a startled little pop as his touch pushed down to the bone, her breath tickled at the tufts of hair where the curls whorled from his scalp. He rubbed along the swell of her cheekbone and her eyes squeezed shut, her brows drew together then peaked up slightly.

"It hurts," she whispered and her voice was small and choked.

"I'm sorry," he breathed back, his own voice similarly weak.

The Doctor realized his fingers were still kneading her cheek and jerked his hand back as if he'd been burnt. Clara's eyes flickered open and she studied him with a kind of curious pragmatism. Was it just him or had some of the animosity left her gaze.

"It isn't broken," the Doctor finally managed as he straightened.

Her eyes followed his motion. She had that look again, as if she were seeing a face from long ago and couldn't quite place it.

The Doctor's hearts fluttered. _It's me_! He shouted in his head, _It's me, it's your Doctor, your friend. Please,_ please _, see me! Just see me._

After a moment though she looked away, bringing her hand up to her cheek to trace gently the same lines the Doctor had moments ago. "Can I go now?" she asked.

"Let me- I've got something to stop the swelling first." The Doctor said shoving down the crippling feeling of despair.

"Fine." She huffed.

The Doctor produced from his pocket a small white pot and handed it over. She squinted at it cautiously then scooped up a finger full of its contents and smeared it across her mottled cheek. Immediately she sighed with pleasure, her eyes fluttered shut and the Doctor could see some of the tension draining from her shoulders as the crème worked to numb the aggravated nerves.

"Ms., er, Whatsername seems to really care about you," The Doctor said trying to distract himself from the arousing familiarity of that look.

"Ms. Bansik?" Clara snorted, "Un-uh, she's full of shite. I had _one_ class with her last year and I spent most of it sticking pencils to the bottom of her desk with gum. She does _not_ like me."

The Doctor couldn't help but to snicker at Clara's juvenile antics and it seemed to embolden her.

"Yeah, I got into so much trouble, it was worth it." A little smile was wheedling its way onto her lips, "You should've seen her. She brought half the bloody school in yelling at me. The headteacher had to physically remove her from the room. It was brilliant."

"She _is_ a little overdramatic," the Doctor allowed.

"Dr. Smith!" Clara gasped doing her best offended schoolmarm impression, though it was ruined by the slight mirthful twitching of her lips, "A fellow teacher, how could you?" She picked up a ruler from the Doctor's desk and batted him across the arm with it.

"Hey!" The Doctor was laughing in earnest now, a dry rusty sound, and he realized that he hadn't laughed since… he forced the thought out of his head. Now wasn't the time, he was determined to enjoy his pupil's paroxysm of humour while it lasted.

"What's so funny?"

Both the Doctor and Clara's heads snapped up to see Ms. Bansik standing in the doorway hand clutching a bag of ice.

"Nothing of importance," the Doctor said giving Clara a conspiratorial look. She didn't return it though, the smile had slid off her face and she'd gone back to looking sullen.

"Right, well," the Doctor looked down at his shoes just long enough to hide the swelling of disappointment in his throat, "get that icepack on quick as you like, we want to keep the inflammation down."

Clara's sullen façade was broken for a minute as she looked to him confused, raising the little pot of cream she still held. The Doctor gave the smallest shake of his head and reached over to pluck the container from her hands and slip it back into his pocket. She still looked unsure but if she had been planning on saying anything she didn't have the chance as Ms. Bansik was now pressing the icepack into the sore spot on her cheek.

"Ouch!" Clara snapped, prying the pack from Bansik's grip, "I can do it myself."

Ms. Bansik rolled her eyes up at the Doctor but stood back.

"How are you getting home?" The Doctor asked after a moment.

"Walking," Clara replied.

"Not anymore. Ms. Bansik you have a car correct?"

"Well yes but-" Ms. Bansik stammered.

"Good you can give Clara a lift."

"Not fucking likely," Clara spat flashing the Doctor a look of betrayal.

The Doctor rounded on her, suddenly he felt light headed, his limbs shook slightly and it felt as if he wasn't quite getting enough air. It was all too familiar. "Clara," his voice was low and serious, "You're not going back out there alone."

"But-"

"No listen, it is my duty to care for you and- and-" he realized what he was saying as he said it. The same thing he'd said to Clara so many times, always to be followed up by her being especially bold or excessively stupid, as if she'd been trying to prove something, until eventually it had gotten her killed.

"I'm sorry," the Doctor relented, "I just- I don't think it's safe."

"Fine," Clara growled. Grabbing her bag she pushed herself off the desk, "Let's go." She called over her shoulder as she stalked off.

"Don't let her go off by herself," he told Ms. Bansik tiredly.

"Alright. But you owe me a drink _Doctor_ Smith," she said with a seductive smile before following Clara out the door.

When it had closed fully behind her the Doctor slumped into his chair and let his forehead fall to his desk with a heavy wooden _clunk_. He felt exhausted.


	4. Chapter 4

The Doctor spent the weekend locked in his TARDIS. He'd considered jumping ahead in time but had eventually decided not to, reasoning that it would give him time to dig deeper into Clara's life. So now he sat in the TARDIS jump seat nursing a glass of scotch and one handedly scrolling through Clara's school records.

He'd found nothing especially alarming, though he noted that there was a considerable break during which the school had taken its Christmas Holiday and that nothing had been updated since then. She had a number of write-ups from various teachers reporting a number of infractions including a few, but not an alarming amount, of missed classes. He smirked to himself as he read copies of Ms. Bansik's frantic appeals to get Clara removed from her class, each one detailing new and amusing transgressions. Nonetheless the overall impression he got was that Clara was a fairly average, if slightly mischievous teen.

It seemed that either the Doctor was noticing something about Clara which her other teachers had not, or, more likely, that the issue had started during the Christmas break. Whichever it was he found no mention of the man from the car and while it didn't particularly surprise him it was one more hopeless dead end.

The Doctor sighed, letting the files drop to the floor, where was he going wrong? He'd gone through all the most recent files, yet, even her medical records (which had required half a bottle of scotch to open), had lacked any real drama. It's only entries of any note read "underweight" and "late physical development". His disappointment did nothing to dampen his relief though, as he was able to discard the upsetting images that'd plagued him following Clara's plea, "Please don't phone my mum".

Taking off Amy's old specs he rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger trying to force the drowsiness from them. He was clearly missing something important, but he was just too tired (and drunk) to figure it out. If only he could get some sleep. He'd barely slept since Clara had died. Instead he'd spent his nights trying to distract himself with trivial repairs, fiddling and redesigning until, fed up, the TARDIS would shut down in order to return everything back to its original state.

When he did sleep he was plagued by nightmares. Some were the old kind, the sort which he'd become accustomed to long ago. Dreams of monsters and wars and old enemies. But now those were a rare and welcome respite next to hellish onslaught that had been hounding him since Clara's death.

He saw them all now, every single one of Clara's deaths marched out before his eyes in a series of excruciating hallucinations. He knew not where they came from, nor whether they were real or simply his imagination running wild with the images already in his head, but they always ended with him jolting awake sweating and sick.

The Doctor pushed himself hastily from his chair, just thinking about it was making him feel nauseous. His head was spinning from the amount of alcohol he'd consumed and he was forced to clutch the back of the chair to keep from falling. He needed to clear his head. Grabbing his coat from the floor he trudged down the stairs towards the door. The TARDIS beeped at him concernedly, it was the second night he'd gone out drunk. He ignored her and pushed out the door.

12

On Monday morning stumbling into the Classroom after thirty minutes sleep and full night of drunken wandering the Doctor was again surprised to find Clara waiting at his desk. She was in his chair this time, one leg curled demurely beneath her skirt as she scribbled in her workbook.

The sight of her hit him all over again, almost as hard as it had that first time. The early sun streaming through the window held her in a column of light transforming her into a radiant vision of someone else, someone vivid and eager and lost. The proud dark lines of her eyebrows, the tilt of her nose, the full inviting curve of her lip: the last time he'd looked into that face it had been empty and blood smeared, cradled in between his palms.

He wanted, so intensely it took his breath away, to reach out and lay a hand on her soft dark head, to pull her tightly against himself and feel her slight and warm and breathing, as if by protecting her hard enough could somehow undo time and protect _his_ Clara too.

"Oswin," he greeted her with a tentative smile.

She leapt from the chair sending it rolling backwards on wobbly wheels, breaking the illusion.

"Sorry," she rushed out, looking quickly at her feet, "It was the only comfortable chair."

"It's not a problem," the Doctor replied gently, trying to reconcile this jumpy bashful girl with the bold hot tempered young women he'd seen the week before.

"Is there something I can help you with?" he asked.

"Uhm, yeah," she picked up her book and came to stand respectfully before his desk, "I finished the equation I was hoping you could, you know, make sure everything's correct."

The Doctor took the workbook from Oswin's hands as he went to sit down in his chair, still warm where she'd been sitting. He read through her problem quickly a smile finding its way to his face. Her work was straightforward and clear, the terms coming together so effortlessly that he couldn't help but to appreciate the elegance.

"This is impressive," he said handing her back the book.

"Thanks," she smiled.

"Is there anything else I can help you with?" the Doctor asked, he didn't want her to go but could think of nothing to make her stay.

"Actually," she said, answering his unspoken prayer, "Would you mind if I worked in here until class starts?"

"Of course," the Doctor answered indicating for her to sit where she liked.

They fell into silence.

Not long after, first bell rang issuing in the hordes of bleary eyed students and the beginning of another long day of teaching.

12

When final bell rang, she was back. He noticed the second she passed through the door but pretended otherwise allowing her to make the first move. Eventually she spoke:

"Is it alright if I work in here again?"

The Doctor looked up from his papers, if her earlier appearance had not set off any alarms for him this one certainly did. He had half a mind to ask her right out why it was she was staying late when any reasonable child would have already been halfway home. He worried, however, that such directness would drive her away, so instead he went with a different more roundabout approach.

"Actually," he replied shuffling together the homework he'd been going over, "I was just getting ready to leave."

"Oh," Clara's mouth twisted to the side, she clearly hadn't been expecting rejection.

For a moment the Doctor thought he had made a mistake, as she appeared to consider fleeing. He was about retract his words when she spoke again.

"But it's raining, can't I just stay until it lets up?" A stubborn almost petulant tone had returned to her voice and the Doctor knew that he was hitting on something.

"It's England, it's always raining," the Doctor said, pushing just a little further.

"Well, I forgot my umbrella and I really don't fancy getting wet." She snapped, but the Doctor could hear her underlying distress.

He eyed her over his desk for a long moment eyebrows furrowed letting his doubt and concern show. _Just tell me_ , he implored silently, _whatever it is I can help you_.

"Fine," she spat turning to storm out of the room.

"Wait Clara," the Doctor stumbled up, arm reaching as if to draw her back, "I was only joking, of course you can stay. I've got loads work to do anyways."

She turned back at him glaring uncertainly.

"Come on come on come on," he beckoned her with rapid strokes of his hand, "sit down, you can stay as long as you like."

She came up only about half way then slouched down at one of the desks.

"You're kind of an arsehole," she observed but a relieved little smile was playing at the corner of her mouth.

"So I've been told."

Clara pulled her homework from her bag and got quickly to work. It wasn't long, however, before the doctor noticed her attention drifting. She was looking past him out the window, pencil tapping rapidly against her papers, her lower lip drawn between her teeth.

"Thinking?" the Doctor asked, startling her from her stare.

"Oh, I just- I got stuck on a question's all," she lied plainly.

"Here, bring it here," the Doctor put out his hand for her workbook, "Let me have a look at it."

"No that's all right," Clara said, "It's English anyways so…"

"All the better," he insisted, he wasn't really sure where he was going with this, "I've read loads of books, met most of the authors too… In a sense of course."

"Yeah fine," she relented, "if you really want to."

She brought the book up for him to take a look at.

"Ooh, _The Stranger_ , I loved that book, well not loved, I liked it anyway, well not really liked…" The Doctor trailed off seeing Clara glaring at him, darkly amused.

"Right," he continued refocusing, "what can I help you with?"

The conversation quickly veered away from the book, maneuvering easily along various tributaries of small talk, never breeching any subject more intimate than favourite ice-cream flavours. The longer they talked the more Clara appeared to relax until she was sitting before him on the desk careless and smiling. The Doctor again found himself shocked by her sudden change in mood. She looked so childish, no longer wary or bashful, or brazen or cold. He knew he should tell her to get off the table, that, were someone to walk in there assumptions would be quick and the consequences harsh. But she just seemed so blissfully unaware of any such perceptions that he could not bring himself to make her move.

As for himself, however, he could not say that he was similarly oblivious. Though he sat at an angle to her knees he could not help but to feel that there was a certain suggestiveness to their positions, an odd kind of intimacy. It occurred to him, quite plainly, that should he bend down (perhaps pretending to have dropped his pen) he could brush his lips almost unnoticeably against the glossy plain of her bare patella. More ambitiously were he to shift just a fraction, so as to be more centrally placed before her, he could grasp her left foot (it dangled waggling languidly back and forth) and relinquish it of its scuffed black shoe and slouching white sock.

He already knew how perfectly it would fit in his hand, the curve of his thumb matching seamlessly the high sensitive sole. His lips then replacing his hands, he could imagine the trail they would explore up along that enchanting leg of hers, pausing a moment to pay reverence to the little bone twitching at the side of her ankle and again at her pink dimpled knee. Where her skirt slumped modestly between her parted legs he found his eyes lingering, longing for taste of the flesh just beyond its tartan folds.

"Clara?" they had stopped talking a bit ago and she was reading her tattered copy of _The Stranger_. When he spoke she looked at him over her book perhaps slightly startled by the casual use of her first name or else apprehensive about the quiet contriteness of his voice.

"You should go," the Doctor continued, "It's getting dark."

"Oh," Clara's attention darted to the window where the rain was still droning steadily then focused back on him. Her eyes were large, imploring, silently begging him to do something she wasn't quite courageous enough ask.

 _She doesn't want to leave_ , the Doctor realized with a twinge of something between concern and excitement. For a mad moment he pictured what it would be like to have her stay. To bring her back to the TARDIS, back where she belonged. The look of wonder that he could already picture lighting up her face as she exclaimed, 'It's bigger, on the inside!' She would have to sleep in his room as it was the only one kept functional, but it wouldn't be a problem since he hadn't slept there in ages. The image of Clara back in his bed safe and warm made his hearts tremble. But he knew that it wouldn't be so simple, that he couldn't let it be.

"If you'd like I could see if one of the other teachers could take you home." He offered dejectedly.

He could see that he had let her down, she had looked to him for help and he'd turned her away.

"That's all right," she said shortly, gathering her things.

"Clara," he caught her eye, "Don't act like I don't care about you because I do, more than you know. Let me help."

For a moment she held his gaze and he thought, that just maybe, he was getting through to her. Then she smiled at him coolly and slipping off the desk said, "I can take care of myself Sir."

She walked briskly from the room and again he was alone.


	5. Chapter 5

Despite her abrupt departure the day before Clara was back on Tuesday after school. She appeared penitent but said nothing of the evening before as she sat down quietly to read. They worked for a while in silence until the Doctor, noticing Clara grow restless, used it as an excuse to coax her back up to his desk. By the time it grew dark they were chatting again like old friends.

It was the beginning of a trend. Clara would come in directly after last period with the pretext of doing her homework or revising for a test. She'd work until she grew bored then converse with the Doctor until he, cringing with self-hatred, would have to send her home. He knew that if he allowed it she would stay with him and the idea of someone to help fend off the cold and lonely nights was an inviting prospect indeed. But he always managed to refrain.

By the end of the week Clara had started spending so much time with the Doctor that he was beginning to worry that the other teachers might talk. But nobody ever mentioned it. Perhaps this is normal, he thought to himself, perhaps it was just his own secret desire which made their meetings seem so scandalous. No matter, he was always careful to avoid any kind of physical contact with her. Or at least that had been his plan.

By Thursday it was ruined.

She'd been sitting on his desk again, right foot pulled up and hidden beneath the thigh of the opposite leg, skirt covering all but the scuffed toe. Her eyes were skimming the last few pages of Camus while her teeth worried at the ridged pad of her left thumb.

It was a puerile action, oblivious to the way it made the Doctor's very insides burn as he watched jealously out of the corner of his eye. What he wouldn't give to be that finger, caressed by Clara's lips.

"Can I help you?" She asked causing the Doctor to start. He had not realized that his discreet glances had merged into full on slack-jawed leering.

"Splinter?"

"Yeah," she sighed, frustrated, "I can't get damn thing out, it's been bothering me all bloody day."

"Would you like me to try?" the words were out before he could stop them.

She looked up at him, thumb pressed between wet lips. His ears were ringing, the tendrils of suppressed lust writhing for a chance fondle this teenaged Clara. She seemed to be scrutinizing his question, as if she could sense his underlying lechery.

Sure she would decline the Doctor steeled himself for the fracturing blow of rejection. It didn't come. Instead she gave him a nonchalant shrug and drying her thumb on the sleeve of her jumper relinquished it to the Doctor.

The splinter was so small as to be all but invisible save for the irritated pink swell it'd caused. It was only when he rubbed his own thumb across the pad of hers that he could successfully pinpoint the tiny shiver embedded between two papillary ridges. Cupping her hand within his own he tried extricating it with his fingernails. At first she watched him closely, suspiciously, ready to pull away should his fingers become painful. Soon, however, she lost interest and went back to reading. As he fiddled with her hand he could feel her muscles growing tired, trembling from having to hold still for so long. She started lying down in increments, first her shoulder slouching, then her legs lifted onto the desk, then her head coming to rest on a pile of paperwork. Not once did her eyes leave her book nor her hand leave the Doctor's. She was vulnerable before him, showing complete comfort in his presence. The Doctor could have wept with joy. Without thinking he leant forward and placed a kiss against the pad of her thumb.

Her fingers twitched brushing against the short course hair along his jaw. Realizing himself he quickly drew back, rubbing the feeling of his lips from her skin. When he dared to look up her face was turned to him, lazily curious as she watched.

"Is it out?" she asked.

"N-no," he stumbled studying her carefully, he wasn't sure what exactly he'd been expecting to see anger, disgust, betrayal? But none of these showed on her face as she gave a frustrated huff.

"Sorry," he rushed out flustered, "It's very… in there. I can't seem to… can I try something."

"Sure." Clara shrugged and diverted her eyes back to her book.

Slowly, barely breathing, he lifted her hand and timidly dropped his lips around her thumb. A moment passed and she gave no objection so he let his tongue brush across her skin. At the taste of her, salt and a slight bitterness, his mind filled with an ecstatic buzzing. His tongue now lolled across savouring the flavour of her delicate skin for as long as he could get away with before dutifully plucking the splinter out with his teeth.

"Better?" he asked somewhat breathlessly.

She sat up fingers flexing, feeling where the sliver had pulled the skin into an irritated peak. Her smile came tentative at first then lit up her whole face sweetly dimpling her cheeks and crinkling her nose.

"I knew I kept you around for a reason," she informed him reminding him for all the world of his lost Clara.

"I live to serve, your highness," he jested back lips wobbling with the threat of his own smile.

She scoffed at that, her smile becoming bashful, "Arse," she muttered beneath her breath.

A bark of a laugh had just escaped his throat as the door to the classroom groaned open.

"John," Ms. Bansik called upon entering.

The both of them started and Clara lept off the table resuming a look cold suspicion that threatened to break the Doctor's hearts.

"Oh," Ms. Bansik said spotting Clara, "Oswin."

Her eyes moved calculatingly between the two of them and the Doctor could only hope she didn't notice the slight flush of his cheeks or the awkwardness of his and Clara's spacing.

"May I help you?" he finally asked when the silence had grated on his nerves long enough.

"I was hoping to speak to you in private, actually," she gave a pointed look to Clara.

The Doctor stalled. Part of him wanted to tell Ms. Bansik that she should kindly fuck off if she didn't want to be around Clara but even for him that would have been bold.

"I'll see you in class tomorrow," he finally dismissed Clara, hoping briefly that she wouldn't see this as some sort of betrayal.

If she did, however, it didn't show as she gave him a brisk nod and hurried from the classroom.

As soon as the door was firmly shut Ms. Bansik was mincing towards him.

"Ms. Oswin seems to be spending a good deal of time with you," she noted with barely masked reproach.

"I've been hoping to get to the bottom of that nastiness from the other evening," he replied offhandedly though his hearts were racing.

"Right," she smiled clearly relieved, "Of course you are. Any luck."

He shrugged.

"She's a very… complicated girl," Ms. Bansik quickly allowed, "It's noble of you even to try."

He gave a non-committal smile but didn't reply.

"Anyway, I was hoping that I could take you up on that drink you suggested the other night?"

"Umm," He was pretty sure he hadn't been the one to suggest it, furthermore, if he were being completely honest he was too emotionally exhausted to do anything more than return to the Tardis and drink himself into a stupor.

"If tonight doesn't work we can always do tomorrow."

"Yes, absolutely," he agreed a bit too readily, relieved to have pushed it off for the night.

"Great." She was obviously emboldened by the Doctor's sudden enthusiasm, "How does eight at The Crown sound?"

"Fine."

She grinned flashing those unnaturally white teeth of hers than turning walked from the room, hips swaying almost cartoonishly bringing to mind that old earth caricature Jessica Rabbit.


	6. Chapter 6

Sorry if this isn't the most interesting chapter I was planning on having it be twice as long but this seemed like a natural stopping point. I'll try not to take too long with the next chapter but I'm crazy busy!

The Doctor was not looking forward to the night ahead of him. Part of him wished to simply not show up, claim he'd fallen ill, something contagious, or gut wrenchingly disgusting. Dignity be damned anything to get out of this. It wasn't an option though, he knew that, not in his current precarious situation. Any negative attention would mean unwanted suspicion. Not that he was doing anything wrong. Not that he planned on doing anything wrong. He sighed, what a mess.

He pulled a comb through his wild hair in one final attempt to get it to lie flat before letting himself out onto the street. The clouds were heavy with the promise of rain, casting a darkness over the streets beyond what the hour warranted. He was relieved that Ms. Bansik had chosen a pub not far from the school for the evening was cold and he didn't fancy the idea of being caught out when the clouds finally broke.

The pub at least was nice enough. Warmly lit and with a homey smell of beer and fried food. To the back of the establishment a much welcome fire glowed warmly and in a plush red seat before it sat Ms. Bansik, legs crossed, scrolling through her phone.

He was aware that she'd noticed him the second he'd walked in but for whatever reason had chosen to pretend otherwise. He took his time to hang up his coat wondering how long he could postpone going over to her before she got tired of her pretense and tried to get his attention. _Game player_ , he heard the ghost of Clara's voice scold just beyond his hearing.

When the Doctor finally approached Ms. Bansik she stood to embrace him pressing an unwelcome kiss to his stubbly cheek. The smile he managed was lukewarm but she didn't seem to notice.

Dinner came and went with little event. Food seemed to have lost its appeal after Clara's death yet he ate it dutifully as he listened to the bland story of Ms. Bansik's life interjecting snippets of his own lies whenever necessary. It wasn't until Ms. Bansik's third glass of wine was being poured that the conversation slipped into more dangerous territory.

"So Miss Oswin," said Ms. Bansik from seemingly out of nowhere.

"What about her?" the question came out harsher than he'd intended it, he'd thought the topic to have been put to bed the day before. He was less than pleased to find it worming its way back into conversation.

"How's she doing? We've hardly had a chance to talk about her since that evening."

"Oh, right, of course," his relief was palpable, "She's… well like you said, complicated."

He paused wondering how much he should really tell this women.

"Sometimes," he began tentatively, "Sometimes she seems perfectly normal. She has friends, some at least, and she's quite genius, really, especially where maths is concerned and very studious. But she's very… moody, I guess, she goes off at the smallest thing and she, she never seems to want to go home. I think that's what worries me the most."

He'd said more than he'd meant to and he wasn't sure why but he felt a sort of guilt, like somehow this was a betrayal of Clara. He studied his glass letting the feeling wriggle in his chest until Bansik finally spoke up.

"It's funny you should say that," she began as hesitantly as he, "When she was having all that… trouble in my class I spoke with the head teacher and he mentioned there'd been some concern of abuse when Oswin was in junior school. But apparently no one ever looked too seriously into it and eventually it just… went away."

 _Junior School!_ How had he never thought about that? He'd been through her secondary school record with a fine tooth comb and even her medical records hadn't been exempt from his snooping, yet not once had he thought to look at her primary school records. He wanted to run back immediately to his Tardis and start researching but social etiquette required him to remain.

"Interesting," was all he said giving the ice in his water a look from above his prominent nose. When she said nothing in response he realized that she'd been expecting more from him and he obliged:

"That was not what I'd hoped."

"Of course not."

"I don't know what to do," he confessed unsure where this sudden honesty was coming from, "She won't talk to me but I'm worried… I'm worried she's going to get hurt."

"It's not an easy situation," she agreed.

They sat in silence then. It had become later than the Doctor had expected and the patronage of the pub had dwindled to a quiet few, their murmuring voices nearly drowned out by low muttering of the dying fire.

It was Bansik who finally broke the silence, "You're not that into me are you?" she intoned quietly.

"No," the Doctor admitted, her directness bringing him again to a point of unexpected honesty.

She pursed her lips.

"It's not you," the Doctor started not sure where this new feeling of guilt was coming from. "I lost someone, recently. I'm not, I'm not really…"

"It's okay," she gave him a look of pity that normally would have rubbed the Doctor the wrong way but for some reason, at that moment he didn't really care.

She stood, "I should get going, it's late."

He stood as well, "Would, would you like me to walk you home?"

"It's raining, and I have a car. I could give you a lift if you'd like though."

"That's all right," he could feel the grimness of his smile, "I don't mind walking."

"You're a good man John", Bansik gave her own pitying smile and reached up to plant a kiss against his cheek and with that she left.

The rain had been falling for a while and puddles had begun to form along the side walk. It splashed against his sodden head and ran down his back in icy rivulets. He huddled deeper beneath his coat longing for a pull of whiskey to warm him up. In his head he was already mapping out the course of his research based on insights Bansik had given him.

He was so wrapped within his thoughts that didn't notice Clara until he was practically on top of her. Nearly hidden with her dark clothes behind the sheets of rain which obscured the streetlamps she sat huddled beneath the overhang on the school steps. His footfalls came to an abrupt halt when he saw her. His breath catching in his throat.

"Clara?" his voice came out in a hesitant puff of white mist.

"Clara?" he called again, louder, yet still no answer.

He mounted the steps taking them two-by-two until he reached her. She sat with her cheek rested against the wood of the door, her eyes shut and her hands tucked in her lap, wrapped in the fabric of her jumper. She'd not dressed for the weather in that her old threadbare school jumper and when he reached for her shoulder he found her sodden and cold. He shook her gently but got no response. Panic then and for a moment he was sent back in time, floundering impotently over Clara's bloodied, broken corpse. It took a minute to reign in that fear, let his senses return. When finally he felt like he could breathe normally he pulled her wrist from her jumper to find her pulse was evident.

"What have you done?" the Doctor breathed letting some of the willing his heartbeat to subside.

He knelt before her taking her face in his hands, her head lolled forward. He could smell a warm miasma of alcohol rising from her crumpled form.

"Come on Clara," he encouraged leaning her head back against the wall, "Come on."

The cold dread was coming back, dropping from his heart to the pit of his stomach making his hands shake and his belly ache. He lifted her eyelid with his thumb and seeing only a sliver of iridal brown let it slide back down. Not sure what else to do he gave her cheek a series of sharp slaps.

Her eyes blinked open as if for the first time, her gaze uncertain and unfocused.

"Mmm" she groaned trying to huddle back against the door and into oblivion.

"No you don't," the Doctor grasped her about the shoulders and pulled her to her feet.

She gasped at the roughness of his hands but it seemed to wake her at least enough to fix her shiny brown eyes hazily to his.

"I know you," her voice was soft and slightly slurred.

"Yes," he was relieved, at least she was coherent.

"No I _know_ you," he could see the gears turning in her head, "You're… you're my Doctor."


End file.
